


1983 Red Eyed and Fevered

by Spot_On60



Series: Black Ice [4]
Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spot_On60/pseuds/Spot_On60
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willie is under the weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1983 Red Eyed and Fevered

 

**1983 Red Eyed and Fevered**

Willie sat cross legged on the dining room floor prying nails from underneath the dining room chairs. He was on the last of them. Replacing shredded fabric on the chairs was something he had wanted taken care of for a long time. He was tired of looking at those slipcovers. It would finally complete the complicated, years-long process of restoring every inch of the room. From the coved ceiling mouldings and removal and cleaning of the built-in murals to, well, to the chairs, this had been one of the more arduous rooms to restore.

He took great care not to damage the chairs other than the holes left by nails in anticipation of the arrival of the fabric from Belgium. Word had come from the mill the replacement fabric had been woven and would be shipping to the States another two days. It should arrive in two weeks.

He heard Barnabas several steps down the hallway. The vampire had long since stopped ambushing him, firing Willie’s nerves like 4th of July sparklers; although, Barnabas’ natural stealth could still startle him with no effort.

“A new project, Willie?”

“Nah, continuation. I started pulling the seats yesterday.” Another tack nail popped. “I got a notice the fabric for them should be here soon. It’ll be here….” Willie drew a blank. He just had it when the fabric was to arrive, but it was gone to him now. “Well it’ll be here soon. It’s not an exact match to the old, but I know you’ll like it.”

“And how do you know that? I haven’t seen it to comment.”

“Because I know you.” Willie smiled up at him.

The vampire paused, assessing him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good, Barnabas.”

“Truly?”

Willie smiled at him again, “Truly.”

“You worried me …. And Cousin Roger too.”

“I must have been a real mess if Roger cared.”

The last nail let go and the fabric fell away. Willie gathered it with the horse hair filling and tossed it to the accumulated pile. Standing, he gathered the few tools he had used and swept the last of the nails into a cup with his hand. “I won’t be able to re-stuff them with the horse hair, but the filling I picked up will be nice.” Then with a grin, “I know you’ll like it.”

This brought a smile to the vampire too.

Willie turned to look at Barnabas. “Do you remember I leave for Boston tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ve left the packet on the kitchen table. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Do you want to take the car?”

“No, I’m happier driving the truck. I’m use to it, more comfortable driving it.”

“You’ll be missed.”

“Yeah?” Another smile, “I like that.” He said this sincerely. As he started to turn away Barnabas’ hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Now?” Willie asked. Barnabas was looking directly at him. “Okay, sure. It’s been a while, huh Barnabas?”

“You were unwell. I haven’t wanted to …. burden you.”

“I really _am_ better.”

Barnabas closed the space between them and slid a hand around his waist, drawing him in. Willie’s hands instinctively went to the wide shoulders. His head tipped back and to the side. He closed his eyes and took in a breath. Barnabas dipped his head into Willie’s neck while opening another button on his denim shirt. He didn’t need to scent or search for the vein. He knew Willie well. As Barnabas lanced him, Willie let out his breath in a satisfied sigh. He no longer registered the sensation as pain. It was a prelude.

Willie kneaded his finger tips into Barnabas’ shoulders as the vampire’s fingers intertwined in his hair, easing his head back until it was within a breath of his shoulders. Barnabas was caressing his neck with quiet lips. He worked his nose under Willie’s chin, sending his warmed breath down the throat to be followed by his mouth descending to the hollow created by the convergence of Willie’s collar bones. There he kissed his companion sending quiet waves through him.

How did he do it? Make this simple act into a monumental wave of stimulation? Willie never took Barnabas’ sensuality for granted. He craved the man’s touch. He saw their couplings as a strange and welcome extension of their strange bond. This bond, over the years, that had become Willie’s greatest source of security and comfort.

With his head laid back and his mouth slightly open Willie felt the vampire’s lips on his own. A rare kiss between them. It alighted on him as gentle sunshine, warm and relaxed. There was no force, no crushing. There was only Barnabas soothing him.

Barnabas stepped between Willie’s legs, spreading them wide. Wrapping his arms firmly around, the vampire lifted him onto the polished wood of the table, just on the edge. Willie leaned back, hands on the table behind to support himself. He watched as Barnabas opened his belt and the button of his jeans, then lowered the zipper. The rest of the shirt buttons were opened and his front laid bare. Barnabas rested his hands on Willie’s thighs and took him in.

The man in front of him had slipped into his 40s almost unnoticed. He had always had the look of someone much younger than his age, which seemed to go with a child-like quality Willie sometimes had. Barnabas thought Willie became more and more handsome as he aged. He was constantly struck by his beauty. A beauty he didn’t seem to fully understand he possessed. His body was taut from his physically challenging work. Willie had sustained a knife wound years prior and as Barnabas worked to repair the damage he unwittingly and thankfully also repaired the damage he himself and Jason McGuire had inflicted, scars from beatings. Looking at him, he didn’t think he could bear to see the reminders of those dark times. That was in the past, instead he watched a sex flush, even in this cool room, spread so invitingly across Willie’s chest and up under his shirt clinging to one shoulder and having slid off the other.

Willie was at first flattered by the obvious admiration, but quickly became embarrassed even with this man he knew so well and knew him in kind. The days of indulging in any conceit on his part were half a lifetime ago. He had become a modest man. “You’re embarrassing me,” he whispered.

Leaning forward, placing his hands on Willie’s chest he said, “I don’t mean to.”

Barnabas slid his hands under the opened shirt and embraced him. In return, Willie’s arms grasped around Barnabas’ shoulders, holding firmly. He felt the two daggers again, this time on the other side of his neck. Sucking in, the pressure becoming unbearable just before waning, the vampire returned to the pressure, taking Willie up and down on the waves. Willie felt his muscles contract, his sperm sat ready. Barnabas tightened his grip and took in a sudden draw, sucking in skin, letting go with his mouth, and then pressed back in, his tongue manipulating the punctures. He once again drew blood in earnest. It was the cue Willie’s body was waiting to hear. His world had gone grey and he lost his hold on Barnabas.

Barnabas held him to his chest as his head lolled back and his lips parted. The vampire could feel the compressions within Willie’s body, could feel them within his arms. He half lifted Willie and slid him further onto the table as the man’s legs had lost any ability to steady himself along the edge.

Then it came; the calm. He took Willie’s head in his palm, turning it as he brought it to his chest, letting it settle there. He rested his lips on the top of Willie’s head, closed his eyes and inhaled.

Soon Willie was coming around. His slack arms found their way inside Barnabas’ embrace, hands tucked between their chests. He would stay there as long as Barnabas would have him.

 

  
 It had been several weeks prior when Barnabas feared he would never hold Willie again.

“I’m so glad you’re home, Barnabas …. I’ve been waiting for you to get back.”

Barnabas had returned to the Old House from visiting his family with Roger in tow. They had planned on continuing their night drinking brandy and solving the world’s problems. Removing their overcoats they had made it as far as the doorway to the front parlor where they found Willie before the fire in his typical one knee up, one knee out crouch. Barefoot and in sweatpants it looked like he had his shirt on inside out and backwards. Willie would, on occasion, slip down the back steps to the kitchen in his night clothes, but he never entered the living areas.

“Willie, why are down here like this?”

Willie dropped his chin down to his shoulder, eyes cast down looking over his shoulder behind him. “I just said I’ve been waiting for you.” It came out like a low growl.

“Willie, please return to your room. I will come speak to you shortly,” Barnabas thought Willie had spent the evening drinking.

Willie stood, wavering then turned to face them. He looked like five miles of bad road. Pale with dark circles under his eyes, he was waving about enough to make it hard to see how red-eyed he was. The faltering did nothing to hide the trembling. Barnabas was shocked by his appearance, left dumbstruck. He hadn’t seen Willie when he rose this evening, before leaving for Collinwood.

Roger always thought the worst of Willie and suspected drugs, “Good Lord, Loomis. What have you been into?”

Willie sneered at him. Looking through his eyebrows said, “Barnabas, that’s what. Like it’s any of your fuckin’ business.”

“Now see here. You will not speak …”

Barnabas put a hand on Roger’s arm and stepped forward, “Willie?”

“Tell him, Barnabas. Tell him.” Willie closed the space between them and reached up to put his arms around Barnabas’ neck.

The vampire could feel the heat radiating from Willie’s cheek inches before it touched his. Reaching behind his neck, Barnabas took Willie’s hands to dislodge him. He glanced at Roger who was studying the sight before him; he was putting this together with illness. Willie clasped his hands to his own chest and dropped his head. “Tell him, Barnabas.”

Barnabas put an arm around his shoulder and guided him to the kitchen. “Okay, I will. But first, tell me how long have you been unwell?”

All Willie could come up with was, “I was sitting by the fire because I’m cold.”

As they passed Roger he asked, “Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes …. Please.”

Roger followed as the pair reached the kitchen table. He skirted around them and pulled out a chair for Willie, “Sit here.”

“I’m sorry, Barnabas.”

“None of that now. It will be alright, Willie.” Barnabas looked at Roger. “Feel his forehead.”

Roger did then flinched his hand away. “He’s on fire.”

Barnabas was already at the sink soaking a towel in the cold well water from the pump. ”Look in the linen press over there for more towels.” He motioned with his chin as he wrapped the towel around Willies neck.

Willie was trying to wave him away. “It’s too cold for that.”

Roger unearthed a pile of towels and a first aid kit. “There’s a thermometer here.” He was shaking it down as he walked around the table, towels in the other arm. Willie had pulled the cold towel off of him and was now hugging himself with his head on the table, shivering. “Sit up, Loomis. I’m going to take your temperature.” Willie sat up and looked blankly at Roger though red eyes. “Open your mouth, and under the tongue.” Willie complied and closed his mouth around the glass tube.

Barnabas was wetting towels when Roger said, “One hundred five point five. This is bad Barnabas. A fever like this can kill him.” Roger tried placing another towel around Willie’s neck, but Willie would have none of it. Roger bent over to Willie’s level, “Loomis, we need to get your fever down. And for that you need to co-operate.”

“I’m so cold.”

“Willie we need to get your shirt off and wrap you in cold towels. I’m going to put you on the table.” Barnabas wrapped one arm behind his shoulders and one beneath his knees lifting him.

Sitting on the edge of the table Willie announced he was ready to go home and go to bed. The struggle to part him from his shirt quickly became a skirmish among the three men. At four to one, with Barnabas’ strength accounting for three, Willie was outnumbered. However, removing the shirt was only the beginning of the battle and Willie wasn’t giving up the fight.

Barnabas held the pugilist down as Roger attempted to bathe him with the cold water. Willie squirmed and fought enough Roger pronounced sarcastically, “This is ridiculous. It would be faster to lay him in the snow.”

Without thinking if it was a good idea or not Barnabas lifted him, carrying him through the door Roger had scurried ahead to open. Roger was amazed Barnabas, a man of his own age, was able to carry an adult male about with so much ease. He thought it must be adrenaline.

As for Barnabas, he was now moving beyond concern. Panic was knocking on his door. He needed to fix this.

Willie pressed his face tightly into the woolen shoulder of Barnabas’ hounds tooth jacket and held the lapels in a death grip. The violent shivers formed deep inside him, shaking him throughout. He spoke to Barnabas in low tones, passing secrets, not wanting Roger to hear, “I’m sorry, Barnabas. Please don’t be mad at me. Please don’t punish me.” As Barnabas lowered him to the bank beside the back porch his pleadings came faster, louder and more desperate. They struck even at Roger despite his long held distain for the man.

Willie’s shaking picked up sudden jerks as he sat in the snow and the two men pressed him back. The shock of the white powder melting on his bare back made him cry out. He searched what little memory was coming to him for what he had done. It had been so long since he had been punished. “Please Barnabas. I’m sorry.” _He’s punishing me for putting my arms around him in front of Roger. He’ll never forgive me for that_. It ran through his head in less than a second. And this became his last cohesive thought for some time.

Willie’s fevered body melted through the snow like a branding iron. Blackness fell over him. He was fitful. Time became an unknown. Barnabas held his chest down with one hand while working snow across his head and under his neck with the other. Roger, one leg kneeling across Willie’s thighs, pressed the wet towels into his shoulders, chest and abdomen, flipping them as one side heated and the other cooled.

  
Waking, he wondered how long it would go on. How long had it already been? For all he knew it could have been days. He tried to fight them off.

Then, as if struck by a revelation, Willie saw the stars, the stars overhead. “Jason, I’m so cold.” He then looked directly at Barnabas and became calm, as if a door had been closed against a storm. His mouth dropped open as he studied the vampire’s face. The hands that had been fighting, hitting and snatching settled and became still on the vampire’s arms.

He was smiling into Jason’s face as they stumbled along a tropical beach. He was drunk. Jason was laughing. _You’ll be warm soon enough, boy-o_. And he _was_ warming up, enough for a light sweat to break out over his brow.

Barnabas looked down on him, wiped his forehead, “He’s sweating.”

“That’s good,” came back Roger. “Means his fever is breaking.”

Roger again watched as Barnabas lifted Willie from the snow and carried him to the house. In his room Roger held him upright while Barnabas removed his soaked sweatpants and briefs. They laid him naked in his bed, covering him with soft sheets and warm blankets. Barnabas built a fire while Roger draped the damp clothes on the desk chair. He moved to the doorway and waited there.

Willie lay on his side facing the wall, “Barnabas?”

Barnabas rising from the hearth moved beside the bed to answer him. He briefly rested a hand on the figure’s shoulder, “Yes, it’s me. It will be alright, Willie.” This said as much for himself as for Willie.

“He needs a doctor, Barnabas,” came from the doorway.

‘I believe he is out of the worst danger.”

Roger didn’t want to argue with his cousin. He could see the stress marching across his face; however, the sick man’s situation concerned him.

Downstairs Roger declined an offered brandy. “Think it’s time to call it a night.”

“Thank you Roger. I wouldn’t have managed without you.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“No. I must be in Boston in the morning. I will not return until early evening.”

“Well that won’t do. I will make it my duty to check on him in your absence.”

Barnabas had no intention of disagreeing with him, even for politeness sake, “Thank you.”

After passing his key to the front door and bidding Roger a goodnight, he returned to Willie’s room. He roused him long enough to towel his hair dry and dress him in clean sweatpants and T-shirt. He lowered Willie back to his pillows and covered him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he contemplated what may have happened to the man. While dressing him and combing his hair, he saw no obvious injuries. Perhaps he had a virus. Viruses were something new to the vampire. He had learned they apparently were the cause of many fevers and illnesses.

Barnabas extinguished all of the candles except, of course, for the always present lantern. Willie didn’t stir as the vampire lay on top of the blankets behind him, conforming himself to the sleeping form. Gathering Willie’s back to his chest, Barnabas buried his nose in the faded blond hair.

“Forgive me, Willie …. I can’t send for a doctor for you.”

 

There was a spectral silence to the Old House as Roger let himself in. A low fire was burning itself out in the front parlor, but this was the only sign of movement in evidence. A pallor hung over the entry and staircase; grey and thick. The house was its own tomb.

Climbing to the top of the staircase, he was met by a serving tray. On it were three Thermoses. A note written in Barnabas’ distinctive hand was tucked under one.

The note informed him Willie had slept through the night. It said one Thermos contained tea and one soup for the patient. The third was filled with hot coffee for Roger. He would find milk, sugar and a cup on the nightstand. It went on with a request to keep the fire lit and the room warm. Further, he was to help himself to any reading materials he cared for from the library or brandy from the parlor. Roger thought he would take his cousin up on the book, but even he acquiesced 9:30 in the morning was a bit early to take a snifter out for a spin.

He entered the room taking the tray to the nightstand. Along with the promised milk, sugar and cup the bedside table also held a bowl, spoon, second mug, water pitcher and glass. All these items presumably for when Willie awoke.

He looked over to the quietly sleeping huddle in the bed. He had a bit of a start when he realized Willie was exactly as he had been when Roger left the night before and he couldn’t make out the rise and fall of breathing from under the enormous down comforter. He leaned in close and was relieved to find Loomis had not in fact died on his watch.

Roger had found a novel checked out from the Collinsport Library on the end table “The Eagle has Landed”. He settled into the upholstered chair by the fire, drinking his coffee, reading about a group of German commandos caught in an English village during WWII. After a time he noted the page and set the book aside. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the sleeping form.

Roger considered the relationship between Barnabas and this man. They were more familiar than the average gentleman and handyman. Perhaps his cousin held fatherly feelings for him. After all Loomis had been what, twenty-three or twenty-four when Barnabas had taken in the hellion? And even in middle age he possessed a certain man-child quality about him in his cousin’s presence. Roger had seen it the night before, as Loomis pleaded with Barnabas to forgive him. _Forgive him for what? Who knew what was going through that fevered mind?_

The man in question was stirring. He rolled to his back, pushing the covers down. He knew nothing other than he was sick. His weakness made it uncertain he’d be able to roll back up on his side. Opening his eyes he winced from the harsh light coming through the window. Someone was in the chair. He couldn’t focus on the figure. Who would be sitting there? The only one who gave a damn about him and watched over him was Barnabas, but it was daylight. How could he be here?

He reached out his hand, “Barnabas?”

The man stood. He was a silhouette in front of the window. He took his hand, “No it’s Roger.” He made no response. “Do you hear me?”

Of course he did. He heard, _“Yes, my spark.”_

It _was_ Barnabas. He smiled and closed his eyes.

 

Waking again, Barnabas was sitting at the foot of the bed. He looked worried. “What’s wrong, Barnabas? You don’t look so good …. Something happen?”

“Willie, your capacity for understatement never ceases to amaze me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Barnabas had gone to the night table for the thermometer. He shook it down as his cousin had shown him and held it out for Willie, “Open.”

The thermometer indicated Willie’s temperature, while not normal, was below scorching. Despite the modern technology of the mercury filled glass, Barnabas still felt Willie’s forehead and cheek to confirm the reading. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m so tired.”

“You’re weak, you need to eat. I’ve heated soup for you. Are you hungry?”

Willie wasn’t hungry in the least, but if Barnabas had taken the trouble he didn’t want to say no. “Yeah.”

Alright, sit up. Would you like it in a bowl or this mug?”

Willie was trying to sit up. He was on his side which involved using an arm to push up. It all seemed too complicated, even convoluted. Each time he pushed on the bed, the bed pushed him back. He simply couldn’t. It was too involved and too much effort.

Barnabas looked for the answer to his question. Willie just looked distressed.

“What on Earth is wrong?”

“I can’t get up. I just wanna stay here, Okay? I’ll have some soup later.” His eyes slid closed before he finished.

“Okay” Barnabas found he was using the colloquialism as much as Willie did. He arranged his pillow and straightened his covers.

 

When Willie again opened his eyes he found Barnabas reading his library book. “Did you get to my bookmark?”

The vampire in his now customary casual dress of pleated khakis, collared shirt and sweater looked over the spine. Willie couldn’t see his nose. “Is it this? …. No, not even close.”

“Can I have that soup now?”

Barnabas put down the book and went to the bedside. Willie was on his side, knees pulled up. The vampire took the pillows and set them up as a back rest, creating a nook. He then wrangled Willie into position and lifted him to sit up with the pillows. Willie did what he could, but mainly his part was not to get in Barnabas’ way. He was served his soup in an oversized mug with a spoon that was quickly disposed of. Willie’s hands were shaking badly enough for Barnabas to be pressed into service to help hold the mug still as he sipped from it. With an inch of it gone Barnabas asked if he could manage on his own.  
“Yeah, m’okay.” With shaky hands he held the mug double fisted and sipped.

Barnabas turned his attention to the fire, giving it a stoke and adding another log. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Willie, with jostling hands, attempting to reach the nightstand with the mug. Barnabas was up and had the mug before Willie could drop it.

Willie looked confused, he didn’t see the mug leave his hands. To him it just wasn’t there anymore. He began to search the sheets in front of him. “Barnabas, I dropped it. That’s gonna make a mess.” His hands were now searching in earnest. Moving fast over the bed like cat paws in pursuit of a string, his confusion overpowering him.Barnabas telling him he had put it on the night table made no difference, the hunt was on. The vampire needed to take both of Willie’s hands in his own, saying his name several times to get his attention. “Look,” pointing with his chin, “I’ve put it there. I took it from your hands.”

As Willie stared at the mug his expression changed. Barnabas thought he was about to break into tears. “Willie?”

Willie dragged his eyes away from the mug and looked at Barnabas, “Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re feverish. It’s to be expected.”

Then in a whisper so no one else could hear, “It happens other times too. Sometimes things just up and stop making sense, and I don’t know why.”

Barnabas suspected he knew why. He squeezed Willies hands and said, “Let’s lay you back, so you can get more rest, Okay?”

“Okay.”

Barnabas rearranged the pillows and helped Willie slide down in the bed. Pulling the covers up and over his shoulders Barnabas could see he was already drifting to sleep.

 

After his fevered confession, Barnabas’ thoughts turned to the physical damage he had done to Willie. He had recently read of brain injuries sustained by boxers. How was Willie much different? He had been slapped hard enough to be knocked off his feet, even knocked unconscious. Backhands had sent him into the next room. He had been thrown into walls and beaten with a cane. Yes there were the accidents; the old Town Car and his fall off the ladder. Those were not of his doing, yet they didn’t relieve him of his responsibility for the other occasions. It was perfectly reasonable to assume Willie’s brain had more than once slammed into his skull causing injury. Barnabas knew all this resulted in what Willie disclosed was happening to him. Did it also explain his sometime man-child demeanor? Probably. Willie had even once said to him, “How many blows to the head do you think one guy can take?” But it hadn’t actually been _him_ who had done these things, had it? It was the darkness inside of him, the anger ridden darkness he kept suppressed. He wasn’t really culpable. He wondered if he could repair damage to the brain as he had done elsewhere on Willie’s body or was the brain beyond him.

 

The vampire had gone out the basement by way of the tunnel to the cliff. He had parked his car before the sun rose in a shrub filled, secluded spot by the beach. He retrieved it and drove two towns off to hunt. He would be satiated and able to stay with Willie the rest of the night.

Roger was downstairs in the parlor when he heard the Mercedes pull in the drive. He gave the expectant looking man his daily report on the sick man upstairs. He hadn’t spent the entire day at the house since Loomis seemed to be better, awake a little longer, more coherent and needed less assistance walking to the bathroom. But he still wasn’t hungry and tired quickly. Barnabas thanked him for the support Roger was giving, especially for a man he didn’t even pretend to like. Roger said it was for Barnabas. Well truth be told, mostly for Barnabas, but Loomis was beginning to grow on him. Barnabas confided Willie had a way of doing that.

After bidding his cousin goodnight he went to Willie’s bedside finding him fast asleep. He took up residence in the overstuffed chair. Barnabas wondered how many times he had watched Willie sleep. He had done so in the early days contemplating if he wanted to kill the boy. His musings changed from considering caring for him after a severe beating to knowing he hadn’t really deserved the latest one. He looked on as he longed for the boy and he looked on as he relived sex with the man. He thought of how he had tormented him, how he controlled him with pain and humiliation. He gazed on his beauty. He thought of how much he appreciated and owed this single person. He checked on him nightly and sometimes lingered because he couldn’t make himself leave.

He thought of how their relationship had changed over the years. He remembered how Willie had finally brought him to his knees by withholding from him a single sentiment.

  


  
He had deserved it and it was a long time in the coming.

“Do you love me?” Willie had asked, rolling his whiskey in his glass.

“Yes.”

“Does it matter if I love you?”

“No,” answered the vampire honestly.

Willie had seemed peevish as he sometimes could be. Though mostly mild mannered he could sometimes go into moods where he seemed to be itching for a fight, usually emboldened with liquor. Barnabas did his best not to be drawn in. It would not do their household any good for him to lose his temper.

But this night after sitting with his fingers steepled, scrutinizing the fire he asked, “Why?”

Willie knew exactly what he meant. Barnabas was Barnabas. He could be so damned arrogant.

"You have to ask? Christ Barnabas, what do think? I've told you before, you only see things the way you want to see them.” Willie shifted in his chair. He was just getting started.

“You imprisoned me, you tortured me, you used me, you terrified and humiliated me. Ya know Jason use to give me a hard time, saying I loved anyone who showed me any attention. Well it's not that way with you. I once told Vicki we would work things out between us, and we did. We get along great now. I told Gina it would be alright and it is. But it wasn't always like this, was it?"

"Willie, I...It wasn't..."

"Oh spare me. Think I don't know what's going through that head of yours? You think it wasn't you, don’t ya? You think it was that thing inside you. You don't think you're to blame and you excuse yourself. Well here's what I think; you're one 'n the same. When you were comin' for me I saw _you_. It was _your_ face. It was _your_ hands that beat me. I heard it coming out of _your_ mouth every time you told me how stupid I was; every time you called me an idiot. You think I'll ever forget any of that, say it doesn't matter?”

_How can I hurt him?_

“You don't think you're responsible for any of the God awful things you did to me. You son of a bitch. I want to love you Barnabas, but I can't. And I doubt I ever will."

And it was a lie.

He did love him, achingly so.

He immediately wanted to wipe that cast from Barnabas’ face as though he could do it with his sleeve, take it all back, but he couldn't. Barnabas looked hurt to the core. He rose from his chair and left the room. Willie could hear him reach the top of the stairs and head down the hallway turning into one of the rooms.

Willie was dumbfounded by what had just poured out of his mouth. Why had he instigated this? Was it because he couldn’t justify to himself his feelings towards the man? Had all of the pent up anger just leaked out on its own? He didn’t know. It felt like the dark anger that lived in Barnabas came forth through him.

What he did know was he had failed in his loyalty to Barnabas. His steadfast desire to protect him had been shattered at his own hand. Willie was the one who finally got to the vampire, wounded him. He once read how revenge was a dish best served cold. Well it didn't taste sweet. It was bitter.

Willie found him in Naomi's room staring at the wall. The vampire reached out to touch the stenciled floral border along the lilac sea. "This is lovely work, Willie. I haven't thanked you enough for the myriad of treasures you have bestowed on this house."

"Barnabas, I'm...."

"Don't say it Willie. You've said it enough times." He turned to face him. He knew what he had in this man was rare. "I'm sorry, Willie."

There were no excuses or explanations. It was honest, heartfelt and true. And it was exactly what Willie needed to hear. He'd wanted to hear it for what had been close to half of his life. A life that had taken a turn no one could have expected, but it was his. And he thought maybe now he could finally find a little peace with it.

Barnabas crossed the room. Taking Willie's head in both hands he kissed his forehead, lingering, not wanting to release the warm skin. He looked at his face. His beautiful face, now marred with a tear that was cutting a gorge down his cheek. Barnabas kissed the tear too. It tasted of salt and the vampire imagined it burned his lips. It was filled with years of scorching hurt.

Willie found his voice, "I know you are." Then added, "And you know what I said wasn't true. You know how I feel about you."

The vampire's hands moved to the back of his neck. He pulled Willie to him. He held him there while Willie fought off tears.

Willie hitched then pushed at the vampire, taking a step back. Looking behind Barnabas, over his shoulder he asked, "Are you going out now." He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He didn't want to cry anymore. He'd spent too much of his life doing it.

"Yes."

"Okay." Looking down, "Goodnight Barnabas."

"Goodnight Willie."

  
***************************

Barnabas had been reading the Jack Higgins novel. He could hear a change in Willie’s breathing. It sounded like he maybe waking soon. Perhaps Willie would like to be read to as his sister did when she wasn’t well.  
Reading recent works could be arduous for the vampire. He had no clue what an escalator was, what VW stood for and he couldn't name the fifty states. He kept a paperback Webster's at hand or tended to pick when Willie was nearby to interpret for him when reading modern fiction. He had reached the page that had the scrap of paper Willie used for a bookmark.

“Are you awake?”

“Hey Barnabas. How long have you been here?” Willie said in a half whisper.

“Maybe an hour. Would you like me to read to you?”

“Yeah.”

The story of Lieutenant Colonel Kurt Steiner and his men unfolded. Barnabas sitting by the fire in the big overstuffed chair, legs crossed reading; Willie laying on his side, covers pulled up, hands tucked under his pillow interpreting. Willie missed his cue and Barnabas looked over to find him sleeping again. The vampire marked their spot and set the book aside.

He again wondered how many times he had watched Willie sleep.

 

He woke around noon, if his estimate of the sun’s position was correct. He was feeling fit and strong from all of the sleep. Sitting on the side of the bed he tried to retrieve from his mind’s recesses if someone had been in his room earlier. Maybe he was just remembering Barnabas’ nightly check in from the night before. Mentally he was a little foggy from too many hours sleep. Pulling on clean slacks and socks he took a polo shirt with him and headed for the little upstairs toilet Barnabas had finally agreed to.

It was a converted linen closet two doors down from his room with a toilet and sink. After so many years of living with only the kitchen sink and pump for indoor plumbing, he relished this as a luxury. Examining himself in the mirror, he thought he looked like hell. Jason use to say his face could be a money maker. He didn’t see it in himself, at least not anymore if he ever had. It didn’t matter how many times Barnabas said otherwise.

Looking closer he wondered how he had grown so much beard. A brief wash and a shave improved his appearance but the effort tired him. He made his way to the stairs. Looking around the first floor he saw the house wasn’t a mess, but needed attention. He went into the kitchen for his apron and rags. While in there he decided to sit for a minute before getting started.

When he woke he didn’t know how long it had been since he put his head on the table, but rising again he hoped he had enough in him to make it back to his room. He was most of the way up the stairs before another break was in order.

_Fuck it._

He seriously considered staying right where he was. Barnabas would eventually find him and help him, maybe even carry him back to his room. Collapsing on the bed he wondered why he hadn’t stuck to Plan A - staying on the stairs.

Darkness was finding its way into the room starting its descent, as always, in the corners. He didn’t know what time it was, his clock had run down without a rewind. Lighting the courting candle wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. As he stared at the ceiling he thought he could hear someone downstairs. The acoustics of the Old House made it easy to hear most downstairs activity from his room, but not from others. It was one of the reasons he chose to keep the room even after Barnabas had offered him his choice of newly refurbished guest rooms in the front of the house. Whoever it was was now climbing the stairs. He was becoming nervous. He couldn’t have been more surprised when Roger opened his door with an overfilled brandy snifter in hand.

Roger was equally surprised to see Willie dressed. “Are you going somewhere?”

Willie had no idea what he meant and was still working on what Roger could possibly be doing in the house, helping himself to the amenities. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see what you are hiding in your closets and basement.”

“What? ….. Why?” He was struggling to get up. With two steps Roger was beside him and dissuaded him from the notion with a lifted eyebrow.

“Don’t look so alarmed Loomis. I’m not very good at finding things. Remember, my sister and your friend McGuire managed not to hide anything in the Collinwood basement for eighteen years and none of us ever found it. They were so sneaky we didn’t even know it wasn’t there. Besides, I doubt my cousin would tolerate anything of the kind from you.” Roger observed even dressed and shaved the man still had a terrible sickliness to him. “I’m here checking on you as a promise to my cousin.” Willie was having a hard time putting all this together when Roger continued, “It’s getting dark in here. What does he mean by living without electricity? I’ve never lit so many candles since Grandfather’s last birthday.”

Willie had to smile. Roger was a jerk, but he really did have a great sense of humor. It’s no wonder Barnabas was so fond of him.

And here was the man now. “Roger,” he said quietly as a greeting. “I see you’ve found the brandy. Excellent. And how is he?” glancing at Willie. He did a double take when he saw Willie was on top of the made bed, dressed. “Willie, where on Earth are you going?”

“I wasn’t going anywhere, Barnabas,” said Willie confused as to why they both thought he was on his way out.

“Then why are you dressed?”

_Now it makes sense._

“I seem to have finished my brandy and this snifter is making no attempt to refill itself,” Roger interrupted, speaking to no one and everyone.

Willie watched him head out the door and down the hallway while the vampire lit candles, stoked the fire and pulled the desk chair to sit beside him. “Now why is it you’ve dressed?”

“I woke up feeling good. Thought I’d start catching up on chores, so I got dressed. But I just couldn’t do it.”

“I would imagine not. You don’t seem to know how ill you have been.”

“Maybe. Guess I need a second day.”

“Second? Tomorrow will be day five.” This was hard for Barnabas. “I persuaded myself if there was no improvement tonight, I would have a doctor here. Whatever they may find in your blood be damned.”  
Willie didn’t know what to say. He was grappling with five days. Had he really been so sick Barnabas was prepared to risk blood tests being run on him?

Barnabas swept back the forever out of place forelock from the man’s face. “Willie, I thought I was losing you,” he confided in a low tone. Willie heard shaking in the always steady voice.

Roger was returning from the parlor and the decanter contained there. He was putting a dent in his refill as he walked. “So are you finally better Loomis? I have other things to do besides sit here with you reading your library book. Though I must admit it was quite good. I will need to look into further works by Higgins.”

To this Barnabas replied, “Neither of us have finished so please hold your tongue regarding any details.” He returned his attention to Willie. “What can we do for you? Do you need assistance changing?”

“No, give me a few more minutes and I can do it.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Wish I could get to the Y. I’d like a shower.”

“I will help you bathe tonight.” Offered Barnabas.

“You shower at the Y?” Roger was incredulous. “Honestly Barnabas,” now sounding exasperated. To Willie, “You will come to Collinwood until my cousin constructs the proper facilities here. I insist.”

“Thank you Roger.”

“Mr. Collins,” Barnabas corrected him out of habit.

“You shall call me Roger,” The alcohol lit man announced. “Don’t look at me like that, Barnabas. I’ve seen the man’s John Thomas for Heaven’s sake. I think that alone puts us on a first name basis.”

Willie looked at Barnabas who was looking at Roger who was fascinated by his brandy.

Willie whispered to Barnabas, “What’s he talking about.”

Just as quietly, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Would you like dinner?” Roger was in a generous mood.

“Yeah, I’m kinda hungry.”

“I will heat soup.” The vampire was rising.

Roger clamped a hand on his shoulder that sent him back to the chair. “What is wrong with you Barnabas? He hasn’t eaten a decent meal in days.” Now looking at Willie, “What would you like?”

“Uhhhhh ….. I …..” Willie was stymied.

“Well that settles it, doesn’t it? I shall return.” Roger was off on his mission to pick up, well they didn’t really know what. They both watched him enter the hall. Without turning their heads, Willie and Barnabas stole looks at each other.

 

**************************

 

While Willie zipped and buttoned his jeans Barnabas buttoned his shirt for him. That had been several hours ago and he now was on top of the covers beside him in his bed. Willie stirred. “Shhh…Go back to sleep.” Willie would be leaving in the morning for an overnight in Boston. The vampire had kept from him his increasing anxiety over the trip. He did his best to hide from Willie how the darkness in him was manifesting. Willie had seen it a few times over the years, but Barnabas didn’t let on how frequent it had become.

Willie had seen firsthand not only the incident with the book but had been woken by the vampire on another night a year or so before. He had rolled to his back when he heard the familiar voice say his name. He had been sleeping soundly and didn't want to surrender his dreams.

"Willie."

He felt the breath on his bare chest. Barnabas slid a hand behind him, down to the valley of his lower back. As the other arm wrapped behind his shoulders Willie reached for him, buried his face into the vampire's neck and held tight.

"Willie."

Barnabas held him lifted from the bed, "Willie I need you."

"Did something happen?"

"I left him on a side street, but when I was at our door I heard him. He was standing in the drive."

"Who?"

"The man I took tonight."

This wasn’t possible. "How could he be, if you drained him? He wouldn’t have the strength."

"I don't know. They follow me." He held Willie tighter. "I don't know what to do."

Willie didn't know what to do either, so he held Barnabas tighter too.

 

The trip to Boston had been planned months in advance and couldn’t be cancelled now. He didn’t tell Willie of his fears so as not to distract him. He told himself he managed all those years ago when as a young man Willie had gone to California. He had been gone a week then, this was only one night and beside, this wasn’t the first time he had gone on a buying trip. He would cope.

What Barnabas didn’t know, was of Willie on these trips fretting about being away from the Old House. He was homesick before he drove off the estate. He occasionally blanked out on details in his life; although, it had never happened on a buying or business trip but he figured it was just a matter of time.

So he went to Boston, and they were each secure in knowing the other thought they were fine.


End file.
